


Forgotten and Not Alone

by krsive



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Afterlife, Angst, Bittersweet Ending, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, First Time, Ghost Rick, Ghosts, Halloween, Haunting, M/M, Major character death - Freeform, Making Love, Masturbation, Ouija, Outdoor Sex, Smut, Suicide, this one is a dead dove fic guys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-26
Updated: 2020-10-26
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:21:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27207277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/krsive/pseuds/krsive
Summary: When Rick dies his spirit is tethered to that of his infant grandson; he can't move more than a mile away from him. He's stuck with the Smiths as Morty grows up, but soon enough he discovers that there's no place he would rather be.**this fic is pretty dark, especially toward the end, so please be safe reading it!**
Relationships: Rick Sanchez/Morty Smith
Comments: 47
Kudos: 104





	Forgotten and Not Alone

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, happy Halloween! This one is dedicated to Naia or HBr, one of my twitter followers and the originator of the "ghost Rick" idea. Naia, I'm sorry you had to wait so long for this fic to come out but at least I got it up in time for Halloween! I hope you all enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it!

Rick lay on his back in the dirt, looking up at the yellow sky. It would be the last thing he ever saw, he realized with regret. He was all alone. No one was coming for him. The sniper round that had ripped through his gut had also destroyed his portal gun. He was fucked.

With trembling fingers he reached into his coat and pulled out his flask. The alien liquor burned on the way down, but all he could taste was blood. A single sob wracked him. He was really about to die alone and unloved on a shitty little moon. He wished things could have been different. He wished that he could hold his daughter one last time. He wished that...that…

Rick opened his eyes suddenly to the sound of an infant wailing. There were fluorescent lights, and a number murmuring voices. He staggered, his head reeling from the sudden change in perspective. When he collected himself enough to look around, the first thing he saw was his daughter’s face. _Beth_. Someone placed a screaming infant into Beth’s waiting arms. She smiled down at the blue-swaddled baby, touched him gently on the cheek. The door burst open a moment later, and a man came in, holding the hand of a little strawberry blonde toddler with Beth’s eyes. The man lifted the little girl onto the edge of Beth’s hospital bed.

“Summer, this is your new little brother Mortimer,” the man said.

“Morty,” Summer said, trying her best to get her mouth around the long name.

Rick wrinkled his nose. _Mortimer_? What a dumb name. Morty was a marked improvement, but not by much. Beth would never have picked the name _Mortimer_ ; it must have been this idiot she was apparently breeding with. The two of them were awfully young, come to think of it. He was starting to fume, even though he was pretty sure he was dead--what kind of fucking asshole moron had knocked up his daughter before she was out of her teens? He watched the tableau, getting more and more angry, until he noticed that little Morty’s vivid green eyes had landed on his face. Morty was staring directly at him. His crying had quieted. Rick felt a pull in his chest, as if his baby grandson’s gaze had speared him and was reeling him in. Everything else seemed to recede. The infant made a pleasant sound and waved one pudgy hand.

From that moment on, there was only one thing that mattered to Rick.

***

Life as a ghost was, unsurprisingly, lonely. At first he tried everything that he could to be noticed, and he learned a great deal about his unlife very rapidly.

No matter what he tried, he could not make anyone see or hear him.

The ground beneath his feet was solid, but whenever he tried to touch a living thing or move an object his hand passed right through.

And, confoundingly enough, he seemed unable to move more than a mile away from his grandson. Every time he tried he felt himself growing paler and less substantial, and he was too afraid to test the boundaries any further.

So Rick was forced to watch the little family grow.

Year by year Beth struggled through veterinary school while waitressing to pay for their two bedroom apartment and food for the table. Jerry took a much lighter courseload for his civics degree, and worked in a call center on the weekends. Summer played with her baby brother while her busy parents mildly neglected them. 

Rick was so ashamed to see his daughter drinking more and more as the years went on, until by her first year of veterinary residency she almost always had a glass of red wine in her hand. He had hoped to spare her his family legacy of addiction by leaving, but it looked like the apple hadn’t fallen far from the tree. And what could he say about Jerry? The man was spineless, simpering, and generally worthless. As Beth rocketed through her education, Jerry nearly crumbled under the exact same circumstances. Summer was a little helion, which Rick could appreciate, but it was sweet, empathetic little Morty who Rick most delighted in watching.

***

The first time Rick made a breakthrough, Morty was five. It was a sunny day in April, and Rick was sitting under a tree watching Morty on his kindergarten schoolyard and wondering what the weather felt like, wondering whether or not Morty was warm enough in his little windbreaker. It was hard to remember what the sun had felt like on his skin. Life after death was grey and bland; he felt neither cold nor heat, and tasted nothing but ash on his tongue.

Rick was pulled from his ruminations by Morty’s scream, and he was on his feet in an instant. Morty was right where he had left him, but now two older boys were standing over him. One of them was holding aloft Morty’s bye-bye bear, his beloved teddy who he carted along everywhere he went. His buddy, a freckle-nosed ginger, pushed Morty by both shoulders so that he fell on his behind in the dirt.

“What a _baby_ ,” the ginger kid sneered.

Bye-bye bear had seen better days. Its blue ears were frayed, the fur on its left foot was matted from Morty falling asleep sucking on it, and there was a small hole where the neck met the head that Beth had yet to notice and fix. The first boy wriggled his finger into the tiny opening and, cruel eyes glinting, he tore the seam clean open. He tossed it on the ground and stepped on it, grinding its head into the ground. Morty screamed and scrambled for it, but the ginger pushed him back into place with his foot.

Rick saw red. He closed the distance to Morty and stood over him protectively. A wave of dizziness washed over him as he reached out and pushed the ginger boy as hard as he could. His palms burned. The little boy staggered and fell against his friend, grabbing the other boy’s acid wash denim jacket and sending them both sprawling. Unthinking, Rick reached down for bye-bye bear. It felt like his fingers were burning away to nothing as he picked it up. The phantom pain was nothing compared to his mindless fury, though, and he held the toy to his chest. His vision swam and the world grew gradually more and more hazy. He felt like he was fading away until he felt a firm tug on his lab coat tail. He looked down at Morty, who was holding his coat and reaching upwards.

Ignoring the bullies who were now running off yelling for their teacher, Rick turned his attention to Morty. His consciousness felt like it was beginning to pulse in and out now that he wasn’t furious anymore he was starting to feel pale and stretched instead. Lightheaded. Cold, so very very cold. He pressed the teddy bear into Morty’s pudgy little hand. If this was his last moment, he was glad he could spend it with Morty.

“I love you, buddy,” he said. He reached out and brushed the tear tracks off of Morty’s cheeks. The tears scalded his thumb.

Morty’s eyes never left Rick’s face. He seemed shy, hesitant. He nodded once, solemnly.

Abruptly, when the toy left Rick’s hand he felt better. His vision solidified. The fire that had been tearing through his core was replaced by the grey nothingness that he had become accustomed to. The pressure of Morty’s weight on his coattail evaporated suddenly. The boy stumbled slightly as solid fabric became ethereal once again. With all of his concentration, he reached out and tried to touch bye-bye bear again, but his hand passed through just like he had known it would. 

Rick dropped to the ground. Misery was filling him like frigid rain. He drew his knees up to his chest and rested his forehead against them. It wasn’t fair. Even if it was just pain and terror, he had _felt_ something for a moment, and he wanted it back. What was the point of this continued ghostly existence?

The school bell rang and Morty hurried back into the building. With a heavy sigh, Rick climbed to his feet and followed. He spent the rest of the school day wandering a maze of misery in his own mind. It seemed like no time had passed before Beth arrived in the family’s beat up old minivan to pick his grandson up.

“How was your day, sweetie?” she asked as she buckled him into his booster seat. From the next seat over, Rick watched her wrinkle her nose and give a few strong sniffs. Her attention landed on the teddy bear, and she picked it up. “Why does bye-bye bear smell like vodka and...is that motor oil?” she asked herself. “Sweetie, how did bye-bye bear get torn?” she asked as she handed the toy back to Morty’s greedy grasp.

“The b-b-big boys took him,” Morty chatted, voice sunshiney. “My new friend scared them a-away.”

“What new friend, Morty?”

“He’s r-real, real old. Like a-a-a-a hundred! And he’s a invisdible s-super hero!”

“Ah, ok, peanut. What’s his name?”

“B-Buddy!”

Rick’s vision was swimming again, throbbing in and out with his pulsing shock. Had Morty actually seen him? It seemed obvious now, but Rick had grown so accustomed to being invisible that he hadn’t considered that Morty could _actually see him_ back there. Phantom tears stung his eyes.

Beth lifted her head and sniffed again, looking around the car. “Did I spill something in here?” she wondered quietly. “Ok, sweetie. Let’s draw a picture of Buddy together tonight while I fix bye-bye bear, ok? Come on, we’ve gotta go to daycare now.”

“Ok,” Morty chirped. “Love you B-B-Buddy.” He put his little hand to his lips and blew a kiss.

Beth shut the door, dimming the cabin of the van.

“Love you, Morty,” Rick answered quietly.

***

The summer that Morty turned seven was unseasonably rainy. Usually, even in the Pacific Northwest, on the thirteenth of July the family could count on clear skies and sizzling heat for the yearly barbecue birthday party.

Today the sky was the color of a bruise and rain was pouring down in sheets. Wind toyed with the yellow crepe paper hanging from the roof of the pavilion. Summer and her best friend Samantha Greene, dressed in their bathing suits, were chasing each other back and forth across the wide clearing, squealing in delight as their feet slipped and slid on the wet grass. Lightning flashed. Beth looked up from her medical journal. 

“Girls! Come back now!” she called.

Rick was standing behind her, reading over her shoulder. He scowled as she took a swig of her wine. “Today of all days, Beth?” he muttered.

The giggling girls padded onto the pavilion’s concrete floor, and Beth got up to give them each a towel. Rick drifted along with her. She handed Samantha a beach towel with little fish in snorkeling gear all over it. Rick had always hated that towel--it was such a little thing, but not having anyone to complain to changed every minor annoyance from a molehill into a mountain. _Why would a fish need a snorkeling mask_? Rick thought for the millionth time. It defied all logic and common sense. Sure, it was just a cartoon, but it was a fucking stupid one and it pissed Rick off.

“God, you brother is such a loser,” Samantha said in a stage whisper, drawing Rick out of his ruminations.

“I know. I can’t believe mom and dad made me be here,” Summer answered. Unlike Samantha, Summer had the presence of mind to look around and make sure she wasn’t being overheard. “Jimmy Lehrer’s little brother told all his classmates to throw the invitations away instead of taking them home to their parents, and I guess they did.”

“ _I_ heard from Tina Blake that he peed the desk on Thursday and that’s why no one wanted to come.”

Summer wrinkled her nose. “It’s true--I heard mom and dad talking about it. He’s so gross.”

Rick had heard enough. God, he was so pissed. Summer had grown into an independent girl, and most days he was immensely proud of her enterprising spirit. Today, though, he was seeing a different side of her. _What a little bitch_.

He turned away before he could get any angrier. His fury tended to manifest itself in the world in unusual ways, he had discovered over the years. It was a dangerous boundary to push. Rick was afraid that someday the unpredictable effects would hurt someone he cared about. Still, by the time he settled onto the picnic table bench next to Morty he was still raging.

Morty was staring out at the sodden landscape with his chin in his hand, valiantly struggling not to cry. His eyes were swimming, his chin crinkled, his lips turned down in a deep frown. Spray from the rain had dampened his dark curls and plastered them to his forehead. As Rick sat down, Morty sniffed the air and straightened up, looking left and right.

“B-B-Buddy?”

“Yeah, kiddo. It’s me.” It was futile, of course; Rick knew that Morty couldn’t hear him. He had taken to conversing with the boy anyway. It made him feel a little less lonely.

“At least _you_ c-c-c-came to my party.” Morty tried to sound nonchalant, but Rick saw his mouth tighten and turn downwards for a moment. “We don’t need anybody else, anyway. They’re all l-losers.”

“That’s the smartest thing you’ve ever said. I should know; I’ve been here since before your first word. It’s just you and me, kiddo--Rick and Morty for a hundred years.”

“I think m-m-mom got me a PlayStation. But I bet dad’ll make me share with Summer.”

“I sure hope not. She’s being a fucking little monster bitch.”

Summer and Samantha, giggling profusely, suddenly came over and sat down across from Morty. They were each wrapped in their towels, shivering slightly but grinning widely.

“Hey, Morty,” said Samantha exaggeratedly.

“H-H-Hey, Samantha!” Morty ran a hand through his hair. His leg started jiggling.

“Don’t fall for their bullshit, Morty,” Rick said as the two girls exchanged a look. God, he was getting heated again. He decided to try counting to ten. “One, two, three…”

“So since it’s your birthday, I wanna give you a present. I’m gonna give you a kiss.”

“Aw geez, S-Samantha.” Morty shifted his weight back and forth. His fingers tightened on the wooden bench.

“Don’t listen to their _bullshit_ , Morty,” Rick repeated harshly.

Morty’s eyes darted around, suddenly distracted. “Did you guys hear that?” he asked.

“Hear what?” asked Summer. She opened her mouth to go on, but Samantha swatted her on the arm and she fell silent.

“Anyway, do you want your kiss or not?” Samantha asked.

“Well, I g-guess,” Morty said. He was practically vibrating, even as he played at nonchalance. “I’ve kissed so m-many girls, but I guess one more would be good, too.”

Summer and Samantha both tittered as Morty got up and wiped his sweating palms on his shorts. Summer stood up and moved behind Morty. Samantha beckoned him closer, and Morty leaned over her.

Just then, Summer darted forward and yanked his shorts down. Morty’s eyes widened and he stumbled backwards, trying to pull his pants back up. He staggered too hard and fell on his ass, Superman underwear on display.

The girls cracked up, laughing so hard that they collapsed into each other on the picnic table bench. Thunder ripped through the air, for a moment drowning out Morty’s high whine. His lip trembled with barely-contained sobs as fat tears slid down his cheeks.

Rick vibrated with rage. Thick ice formed on the pavement below him, radiating outward quickly. The girls both squealed and drew their bare feet up away from the arctic chill, but not quickly enough, it seemed. Swirling patterns of frost covered their skin like fractals on a winter window. They both clutched their feet, howling in pain. Their screams drew Beth away from her medical journal. The look on her face would have scared Rick if he weren’t still so damn angry.

“What the--” Beth breathed. She turned her head away even as she rushed to the girls’ side. “Jerry! Get the rest of the towels! And _hurry up_!”

Rick turned his attention to Morty, suddenly afraid that he had hurt him. There was no ice in a circle all around the boy, though, as if he were protected by an invisible bubble. He looked up at Rick in wonder, tears forgotten.

“Buddy?” Morty whispered.

Rick, overcome with emotion, simply nodded. He reached down and Morty took his hand. His touch burned like hell’s own fire, but it was worth it for a moment of human contact. Morty, completely ignored by everyone but Rick, shamefacedly pulled up his shorts.

“Did you do th-that?” 

Rick nodded again. “I think so.”

“Thanks,” said Morty, his voice a hoarse whisper. He swallowed to wet his mouth and tried again. “Mom s-s-s-says you’re not r-real.”

“I know.” Rick could feel himself getting paler, weaker. “But I am. I’m with you all the time, Morty.”

“No,” Morty whined, alarmed. “Don’t d-d-disappear again! I _need_ you!”

“I’m sorry,” said Rick, and he meant it.

Rick knew that he was invisible again when Morty finally started to cry.

***

Rick stormed up and down the hall. Lately he had been feeling sour. Well, more sour than usual. It was the week of his birthday, and just as every year that passed, Beth showed no sign of marking it.

No one in the whole world remembered him.

"That's it," he growled. "it's time for the kids to learn about their grandpa." 

He narrowed his focus, dwelling on the feeling of being discarded by his own daughter. He thought about how she was probably ashamed of him, thought of how he _deserved_ for her to be ashamed of him. He thought about her mother. He paced and stewed until he was worked into a lather and he could feel himself vibrating. Then he threw open Morty's bedroom door. Fire started up his arms but he didn't care. He grabbed Morty's blankets and tore them off of him, letting them flutter theatrically to the floor.

"Get up!" he insisted when Morty opened his eyes and looked around groggily. "Get the fuck up, you're wasting time!" Rick could already feel his energy starting to ebb. 

Morty climbed cautiously out of bed, eyes squinted against the hallway light. "Buddy?"

"Who the fuck else? Come on." 

Impatiently, Rick swung the door on its hinges a few times, until Morty cautiously approached it. He crossed the hall and rapped his knuckles on the wall. Morty looked back and forth and then followed the sound. Meter by frustrating meter Rick led Morty down the stairs and to the storage room. He was nearly spent when he _finally_ got to rip a book from its perch on an old army cot and fling it to Morty's feet. The boy picked it up and opened to a page near the middle. After thinking for long enough to piss Rick right the fuck off again, he headed for the living room.

“Mom?” Morty ventured. He was clutching a fray-edged red photo album with faded gilt on the cover.

Beth was sitting under a floor lamp, the only light in the midnight living room. Morty was tousled from bed, barefoot and wearing a set of firetruck pajamas that were much too small for him. Rick wanted to pull down the top that had ridden up, and he wanted to scold Beth for putting them on him in the first place, for not recognizing that her son had grown much too old for such things, but he could do neither. 

Beth put her finger in the pages of the report she was reading and regarded her son with a tired expression. “What is it, sweetie?” she asked wearily.

“I found th-this i-i-i-i-in the storage room,” Morty said shyly, holding out the album to her. “I c-can’t sleep. Can we look at i-it?”

Beth sighed. “Just for a little bit, and then you’re going upstairs to go back to bed. Come on up here, sweetie.”

She put aside the report and opened her arms to Morty, who climbed into her lap. He’d gotten much too big for this sort of thing, but Morty had always been a sensitive, needy child. Rick knew that if he were still alive that Morty’s timidity and clinginess would drive him crazy, but as it stood he just found it endearing. He wished that he could be the one to hold Morty on his lap and show him the old photos, but all he could do was stand by Beth’s shoulder and look on as Morty settled against his mom and opened the book. 

At least tonight Beth decided to spare the boy some attention. It was all too common for her to shoo him away, too busy with her drinking and her job to make time for her child. Summer had thrived on her own, but Morty was floundering. Frankly, it broke Rick’s heart to see him alone and forgotten by his family and his classmates. Morty deserved better. If only Rick were still alive, he would show Morty the universe. He would take him to places so wondrous that no earthling could even imagine them--crystalline cities rising above blood red seas, small moons covered completely in wildly blossoming flowers, the inside of a nebula with its riot of colors. The rest of the Smiths were small minded. Planetary. But Morty had real potential. A pang of regret washed through Rick’s body. He would never get the chance to give his grandson what he deserved.

The photo album was more or less what Rick had expected. There were photos of Beth when she was small, sitting at the piano or riding a pony with her little pink helmet on. As Beth’s years marched on, Rick found himself wishing that he could cry. He had missed so much. A lifetime. Just because his daughter had been better off without him didn’t mean that he hadn’t looked up at the stars and wondered what it might be like to teach her how to ride a bike without training wheels, or see her graduate from high school. He’d swollen with pride when she walked across the stage with her veterinary school diploma in hand, but it hadn’t been the same thing.

And there _she_ was, in so many of the photographs--Diane, looking as lovely as he remembered. The sight of her was bittersweet. Their marriage had soured, but he had gone into it with all the hopes and dreams of a young man’s heart. Whatever else had happened, he’d only had the best of intentions.

When Morty turned the next page, Rick felt himself pulse. The floor lamp flickered. Morty straightened up abruptly, pointing eagerly to a photograph.

“Mom! That’s Buddy!” he exclaimed

Beth looked down, following her son’s finger, and she frowned at him. “Sweetie, that’s not funny. Is _that_ why you wanted to look at this with me?”

Morty shook his head, and twisted to look up at her earnestly. “I didn’t know Buddy was gonna be i-in there, honest!”

“That’s not ‘Buddy,’ Morty. That’s my...my dad.” Beth’s voice was thick, and not for the first time over the years Rick was overcome with guilt. She didn’t even know he was dead--and she would _never_ know for sure. “Anyway, you’re much too old for ‘Buddy,’ don’t you think, sweetie? Maybe it’s time to give him a rest.” She had suggested it so many times over the years. 

“But he’s _r-r-real_ ,” Morty whined. “He’s r-right there in that picture! Except he’s older n-now. He’s got lotsa wrinkles.”

“Gee, thanks, kid,” Rick grumbled. “Let’s see you look half as good when you’re dead.”

“It’s not ok to make up lies about people, Morty,” said Beth.

“I’m not! Honest m-m-mom!” Huffily, Morty settled back against his mother. Clearly he wasn’t going to win with her. Rick could see the gears turning behind his eyes as he chose to try another tactic. “Tell me about him. H-How come I’ve never met him?”

“That’s because we don’t know where he is. When I was little he went away. He went…” She looked around, no doubt looking for Jerry, who still doubted her stories about Rick. “He went to outer space. He built a flying saucer and went right up into the stars and he never came back.”

“Why did he g-go?” asked Morty. His finger was tracing Rick’s smiling face in the photograph. “Why didn’t he take you with him?”

“He wasn’t happy with my mother,” Beth sighed. “They didn’t love each other anymore, so my mom stayed with me and my dad went to space.”

“Oh.” Morty appeared deep in thought. Solemn. Rick thought about the injustice of the boy being born into a family who couldn’t recognize his clear intelligence. “D-Do you still love dad?”

“Morty, you shouldn’t be worried about things like that.”

“But you guys fight a-a-a-all the time. How do I know y-you’re not going to go to space l-l-like Bud--like grandpa?”

Beth sighed and brushed Morty’s curls off of his forehead. “You’re just going to have to trust me, sweetie. I’m never going to leave you.”

Morty sat quietly for a long time. “Ok, mom,” he said at last.

***

Rick didn’t like this one bit.

The pond froze over every winter. Morty, in his little ushanka and the mittens that Jerry had knit him, picked his way through the thin woods to the icy pool. At first Rick thought he was going to turn around and go home when he found no one else there. But, after he had sagged disappointedly for a few minutes, Morty wandered onto the ice by himself.

“Bad idea, kid,” Rick fussed, circling around Morty as the boy slipped and slid across the surface of the pond. “Get the fuck off the ice and go home.”

“L-look, Buddy! I’m a figure skater,” he called.

Morty managed a sort of twisting hop. On the landing his leg went out from under him. He landed heavily on his arm. There was a sickening snap. Morty howled to the white sky so loud that it sent a flight of birds scattering from a nearby tree. 

“Ok. Ok. Not good.” Rick paced faster, trying to think of anything he could do at all. He didn’t think he’d make it all the way back to the house. It was too far away from Morty. In the middle of the woods he was unlikely to come across anyone else, even if there was a way for him to get their attention. “Come on, baby. You’ve just--you’ve gotta get up now on your own. Just get up. Just get--”

A deep groaning sound filled the little clearing. Rick froze. Morty froze. The boy’s vivid green eyes widened impossibly round. They both watched a thick crack traveling across the surface of the ice. Morty flailed, pushing himself back away from it.

“Don’t do that!” Rick cried, rushing forward and grabbing fruitlessly at Morty’s leg. Morty was wailing now, crying hard in pain and fear. “Keep it up, Morty. Yell harder. Oh please, oh fuck, please someone just hear him…”

The crack in the ice was spiderwebbing beneath Morty’s weight. The boy’s eyes darted back and forth, looking for a savior, but none was coming. Morty looked right through Rick as, with a loud splashing sound, Morty fell through the ice and into the water.

“No no no no no _no_!” Rick cried.

Without thinking, Rick plunged into the dark water after Morty. He could barely see anything, but a flash of orange scarf directed him. With more desperation that he had ever felt before, he wrapped his arms around the boy.

He felt solid. Pulsing in Rick’s head was the worry that it was a bad sign. Instead of thinking about it, Rick simply kicked off of the bottom of the pond and shot the two of them toward the surface. After far, far too long of desperate swimming Rick finally found the hole that they had plunged through in the first place. He couldn’t feel the cold, thank fuck, and he was able to keep his head and haul Morty out of the water and across the ice to the bank of the pond.

Morty was pale, and blue around the lips. Rick was panicking, running his hands over Morty’s cold body. All of his scientific and medical knowledge, and he couldn’t trust himself to give Morty CPR. He barely had any tactile sensation at all, and he wasn’t even sure that he wouldn’t push _through_ Morty’s ribs and end up with his hands full of the boy’s lungs. His mind spun frantically as he watched Morty shiver, and then an idea hit him.

“Sorry, Morty,” he murmured. “I gotta try this.”

He grasped Morty’s broken arm and twisted. Morty’s body jolted and brackish water bubbled over his lips. His eyes slipped closed again, and Rick twisted harder. Morty rolled protectively onto his side, now coughing as he spat up more water. His green eyes were hazy as he looked around, looking for his rescuer.

“Buddy?” he asked weakly.

“Yes. Yes, I’m here. You gotta get up now, Morty. You gotta get up--you’re not safe yet.”

“Buddy.” This time Morty’s eyes stared straight into Rick’s own. “Buddy, I-I-I-I think I’m...I d-don’t think I can m-m-make it.” His teeth were chattering as he stammered out his confession. “Y-you l-l-l-look so s-sad.”

“You can see me?” That seemed like a bad, _bad_ sign right now. Very very bad. “Get up, Morty. You have to--you have to get up. Please, Morty. _Please_.”

“It h-h-h-h-h-hurts too much.” Morty coughed and sputtered again.

“I don’t give a shit. Stop being a pussy and get--get up, Morty! Fuck!”

Rick reached down and tried to take Morty by his good arm, but his hand sank through Morty’s flesh to something frigid and gelatinous inside of him--something that didn’t feel quite solid, nor quite vaporous. It frightened him, and he withdrew his hand as if he’d been burned.

“S-s-s-sorry, Buddy.”

Rick wished he could feel the relief that tears would have brought him. “Don’t. Don’t be sorry, Morty. Just get up. _Please_.”

Suddenly, away to their left, the sound of stirring birds filled the air. Rick had never been so happy to see Summer, who came crashing through the bracken in her bright pink coat.

“Morty!” she cried, rushing to the boy’s side. “Oh my god, Morty, I can’t believe you came out here all by yourself.” Summer had told him to take a hike when he asked her to come with him. Now Rick could see how guilty she was feeling.

Rick stepped just out of the way as she bent over Morty and helped him onto her back. He followed closely the whole way back to the house, his icy blue eyes locked on Morty’s viridian green. He was waiting for the moment that the boy’s gaze blurred, the moment when Morty couldn’t see him anymore. Rick had theorized that they could communicate right now because Morty was on death’s door.

Back at the house, Morty was bundled into the car, crying for his mother, who was busy speeding to the hospital. Rick sat in the back with Morty, shushing him as he cried. He sang to him, a Spanish lullaby that his mother had sung to him when he was little. 

“ _Buenas noches pequeñito, cierra tus ojitos ya que el arcoíris se ha ido a dormir. Y una estrellita estará pronto en el cielo esperando por ti; esperándote para soñar_ …”

Gradually Morty quieted. Rick didn’t stop worrying, though, until he had followed him through the Emergency Room and watched his body temperature rise until Morty looked around and Rick could feel him looking right through him.

***

The attic was a real hazard. Insulation showed between the joists and floorboards. Dust hung heavy in the air, glowing in the bright halo of the camping lantern Morty had toted up there. He was humming to himself, curled over his project. Rick paced behind him, agitated. He kept looking at the tag on Morty’s shirt sticking out above his collar. It was annoying him, and he couldn’t just reach out and tuck it back in.

“This isn’t going to work, you know,” Rick said. “You’re wasting your time with a bunch of mumbo fucking jumbo, Morty.”

Morty was painstakingly drawing runes on a planchette in gold paint. He had a hefty book open in front of him, and he consulted a diagram that took up an entire page. Impatient once he had made the last stroke, the boy blew on the paint to make it dry faster. 

Rick was nervous. Over the years he had been Morty’s protector, but only when he was in a righteous fury. Any other attempt to interact with the material world had been fruitless. It seemed pointless to try this experiment, but Rick wanted to so badly. He wanted to talk to Morty. He wanted to be just a little less alone.He heard the _tak_ of the planchette being set down on Beth’s old ouija board, snapping him out of his thoughts. He practically scrambled to sit down across from Morty. It hurt him to see Morty’s eyes focusing somewhere just behind him, reminding him just how invisible he was.

“Don’t get your hopes up,” Rick said, and he wasn’t sure which one of them he was talking to. Nonetheless, he settled his fingers on the planchette. It felt more solid than he had expected. “Don’t get your hopes up,” he repeated more quietly.

“Buddy? A-A-Are you there?”

Rick dragged the planchette an inch toward himself, and he was so surprised that he almost dropped it like it would burn him. Hurriedly he finished moving it across the board.

“Yes,” Morty read off, his voice low. Awed. “What’s your n-name?”

The sound of the planchette dragging across the board was loud in the tense silence between them.

R-I-C-K

“So y-y-you’re really my g-grandpa Rick?”

YES

“Cool.” Morty was grinning ear to ear, peering down at the board. “Are you a ghost?”

The planchette made a small circle.

YES

It was the first time Rick had the opportunity to admit that to anyone but himself, and it felt very strange. He had never believed in life after death until his own. Admitting to being a ghost felt like admitting he’d been wrong his whole life, and it rankled. And now apparently all kinds of bullshit magic were real, because Morty painting some chicken scratch on this planchette had them communicating.

“D-Do you want to talk to mom?”

That question caught Rick off guard, and it made him pause.

NO

“Why n-n-not?” Morty asked, audibly surprised.

W-O-N-T B-E-L-I-E-V-E

That wasn’t the full truth, of course. Rick couldn’t imagine what he would say to his daughter after nearly twenty years since he had last visited her. He owed her so much. He had ruined her life and could never do enough to make it up to her. What could he possibly say, even if he was sure that she would believe in him? No, he didn’t want to talk to Beth. He didn’t want to talk to anyone but the boy in front of him. His best and only friend. His whole world.

J-U-S-T U-S

“Ok. If th-that’s what you really want. It can be like a secret.”

R-I-C-K A-N-D M-O-R-T-Y 1-0-0 Y-E-A-R-S

Rick felt so empty inside, drained as if he had been sobbing himself to sleep. Rick and Morty, a hundred years. That was what he wanted. That was all he wanted. Just the two of them together and the rest of the world could fuck off. Morty was the only thing that could make him smile. 

With horror, Rick realized that he was in love with his own grandson.

If he were corporeal he would have thrown up, but as it stood all he could do was vibrate with his own disgust. The boy was--well, he was a boy. He was still in the middle of puberty, for fuck’s sake! Rick had never been attracted to anyone Morty’s age before, but that didn’t stop his own self-reproach. _Pedophile_ , he jeered himself bitterly, _you’re fucking sick, Sanchez_. Did it really matter that he had never felt this way before? Not to his own massive self loathing complex. It was a good thing that he couldn’t touch Morty. He was safe from Rick’s notorious lack of self control, at the very least. It was small comfort. Rick knew that he was going to watch Morty grow up whether he wanted to or not. He was going to watch him fall in love and get married and have a happy life with someone else. Rick was sick for wanting it to be him, but he _did_ want it.

Fuck.

***

As Morty grew older, Rick had decided to give him more privacy, pacing the rooms of the house restlessly at night. Frankly, it sucked. He felt so alone when he wasn't with Morty. So how could he be blamed for bursting into Morty's room that night, all excitement and laughter?

"Jerry just fucking got his hand stuck in a pringles can," he chuckled animatedly. "Beth had to cut him out of it with the dremel saw."

He was just going for the planchette to get Morty's attention when he noticed the way that the boy was stirring on his bed.

Scowling, Rick watched Morty holding the photograph up to the moonlight that streamed into his bedroom. It was a picture of Rick at 25, his infant daughter in his lap and an easy grin etched across his face, lounging in his old MIT sweatshirt and holding a beer bottle in his hand with his arm draped across the back of the couch. Morty had stolen it from the photo album a week ago. If Rick had known then what the boy had wanted it for, he probably would have been pissed enough to stop _this_ from happening.

Morty's blankets were bunched up around his calves, his boxers hastily pushed down around his knees. He was squeezing his dick as he stared at the picture. Longingly. Stroking himself slowly, teasingly, he swiped his thumb across Rick's young face.

" _Rick_ ," he moaned breathlessly.

"No no no." Rick paced up and down the room, tearing at his ghastly hair. "You can't do this, kid. This is beyond fucked up."

Rick's mind was racing. Had he done something to encourage this? He eyed the ouija board in its now-permanent place on Morty's desk. Beth and Jerry didn't like it, said it was morbid, but Morty had stuck up his chin and kept it there. Rick tried to be a good influence but...maybe he was too friendly to the otherwise friendless boy. _Please don't make me let him go_ , he begged the nothingness around him. A high, throaty groan from Morty drew Rick's attention.

He was beautiful. Outlined in silvery moonlight, Morty lay on his bed with his back arched just so. He was fucking into his hand with the frantic pace of inexperience, racing toward the finish line. His hand moved across his bare chest, fingers just barely brushing, as if he were shy about touching his own nipples in the privacy of his bedroom. His face was screwed up in concentration, sweet jade eyes fixed on that damned photograph where he had laid it beside his head. 

Suddenly furious, Rick crossed the room in three purposeful strides. He grabbed the picture by the top corner and yanked. Instantly there was a sparking white flash and a burst of heat. The photo went flying, singed and smoking where Rick had touched it. 

Morty made a small noise and sat bolt upright, though his hand never left his dick. "Rick?" he called out, all hushed excitement.

"Damn right it was me! Do you have any idea what you're doing?!? What you're doing is-is-is-is...it's sick! It's seriously fucked up, kid. You'd better cut that shit out if you want to have any chance at a--a normal life! And I'll tell you another--"

Rick cut himself off when he was interrupted by a louder moan. He whirled toward the sound, stalked back toward the bed. He leaned over Morty, bracing himself with a hand on either side of his grandson's head. He could feel his palmprints burning marks into the sheets, like he was grasping a burning brand, but he didn't let go.

"Listen here, you little shit," he gritted out, "you're on the highway to hell."

"Hnng, _Rick_ ," came his only, urgent reply.

Morty stroked himself through what looked like a potent orgasm. And oh. That was what he looked like in the throes, as it were, of ecstasy. His eyes were closed, his lips parted around the unashamedly lewd sound he was making. His chest rose and fell in time with the strong pulse in his thin neck. Thick come spurted out of him, painting his stomach and flowing over his delicate fingers. 

_Fucking beautiful_.

Possibly angrier than before, Rick marched to the desk, picked up the planchette and flung it at Morty, hitting the panting boy on his shoulder. Morty opened his eyes, but he stayed on his back, staring up at the ceiling with glassy eyes. He was taking his sweet time catching his breath. Rick stood over him again, picked up the planchette, and dropped it on Morty's face.

"Get up! Get up, get up, get up!" 

"Ow, Rick, geez!" 

Morty hurriedly wiped his hand on his sheets and brought the planchette over to the board. When the desk lamp clicked on Rick could see the gentle pink flush of exertion still on Morty's cheeks. He wanted to brush his fingers over the boy's skin and feel the heat of him. 

He wanted everything that he was furious with Morty for wanting. He wanted to feel pleasure again, and hated himself for it, knowing that if he could he would have touched himself to the sight of his own grandson's climax. Now that he'd seen it once he didn't know if he'd have the strength to give Morty his privacy anymore. He was like a starving man fed the choicest morsel; he no longer had the strength to abstain, weakened by indulgence. Not only had he seen what he wanted, he'd been the cause of it.

This was all Morty's fault.

"Ok, Rick. What do you want to tell me?" Morty asked. He yawned.

"Oh, I'm sorry--am I fucking boring you?" Rick grabbed the planchette and dragged it across the board in jerky motions.

I-N-C-E-S-T

"Aw, come on, Rick. You just want to yell at me?"

YES

"You're damned right I want to yell at you," he grumbled. Why couldn't they just _talk_? This ouija shit took forever.

"I don't need you judging me." Bold words. Timid voice.

T-O-O F-U-C-K-I-N-G B-A-D

"I thought you'd understand." Morty fidgeted in his seat, wringing his hands together as he stooped over the board. 

N-O-P-E

"More than you'll ever know, kid."

"Is this just because of the photo? 'Cause you can't make me put it back." 

W-H-Y

"You're the only one who cares about me, Rick. I...I’m in love with you." Now Morty was crying, scrubbing at the tears beading in his eyes.

Fuck.

This was bad. This was so bad. And the longer he stood, his mind whirling uselessly, the more he felt like his silence was encouraging Morty.

J-E-S-S-I-C-A

It was worth a try, right? Put the kid back on the scent of a more appropriate crush. 

"You know Jessica doesn't even know who I am. And even if she cared, I _don’t_. I just want you." Morty's voice was quavering. "I just want to be with you, Rick. For a hundred years."

Rick stared down at the ouija board. He was too damn selfish, even as a ghost. He couldn't just tear into Morty and put him off forever, couldn't lose his only friend entirely. He struggled, wondering what would be the perfect thing to say.

I-T-S W-R-O-N-G

"Gee, Rick. I never thought of that." Morty rolled his eyes. Sniffling, he wiped his nose on the back of his hand. "You're being such a prude."

Rick opened and closed his mouth a few times. No one had ever called him a prude before. 

F-U-C-K Y-O-U 

"I'm not hurting anyone, and you can't make me change my mind. I love you, Rick. I just do." 

Morty put his arms around himself and stared down at the ouija board dejectedly. He was clearly expecting further ridicule. Rick's fingers trembled. In a fit of frustration he hurled the planchette against the wall. Morty flinched at the sudden movement. 

"Go ahead. Fuck yourself up. I tried," Rick muttered.

***

"What's that supposed to mean?" Beth asked, blue eyes narrowed as she stared down Jerry across the dinner table.

"Here we fucking go," Rick sighed. 

He was standing behind Morty, as he was accustomed, carefully watching Morty eat his dinner and trying to remember what pork chops tasted like. Morty lowered his fork and began to kick his feet under the table. He was still so small for his age that his feet barely touched the floor when he was sitting on the extra tall dining room chairs.

"Here we fucking go," Summer groaned, pulling out her phone and rolling her eyes.

"I'm just saying, _dear_ , that maybe if you went back to school and got that MD you always wanted then maybe money wouldn't be so tight."

"Money wouldn't be so tight if you got off your ass and got a new job," Beth gritted out.

"You deadbeat fucking waste of space," Rick added. 

"I have a job!" Jerry shrilled. "I'm a stay at home dad."

"Who decided that? Huh? 'Cause I don't remember agreeing to it," said Beth, her hand tensing on the stem of her wine glass.

"Excuse me," said Morty. He pushed away from the table and headed for the stairs. 

"Look what you did," Jerry said to Beth, "as if he needs to be skipping meals. Morty! Come back here, please."

Morty froze on his way out of the room. He wiped at his face, trying to compose himself.

"Oh my God, dad, don't make him sit with you after you basically just called him scrawny," said Summer. "I'll make sure he eats later."

Hurrying to leave before his father could think of an answer, Morty scrambled up the stairs. Rick left with a last glare at Jerry. "Father of the year," he said darkly as he passed. 

Morty threw himself onto his bed and gathered his pillow into his arms. He stared at the wall, illuminated by the warm sunset light that filled the room like honey. Rick sat on the edge of the bed, fidgeting nervously. 

"My parents used to fight," he said, just to fill up the quiet. "I remember one night when I was your age. Dad had been drinking since lunch, and mama just had enough. When she called him out on it he just marched right up to the cabinet where she kept her grandmother's wedding china and broke every last piece of it." Now that he thought about it, maybe that wasn't an amusing anecdote. Good thing Morty couldn't hear him.

He laid down behind Morty. "I'd take it away if I could, kiddo," he said softly. "I'd do anything for you. I--"

Morty's door swung open. Rick and Morty sat up in unison. Rick was feeling buried under two tons of guilt. Which, he reminded himself yet again, was completely illogical because he was _fucking invisible_. He could lay there for as long as he wanted and talk to himself about what Morty's hair might smell like and it wouldn't hurt anyone. Yet he felt a natural yank in his gut at being found laying on a teenager's bed. 

"What do you want, Summer?" Morty whined.

Summer invited herself in and shut the door behind her, shutting out the sound of shouting from downstairs.

"I want you to spill it," she said, leaning back against the door.

"Spill what? Just go away, ok? I don't want to talk right now."

"Yeah, no shit. You're barely eating lately, barely sleeping, you're talking back to mom and dad. What's going on? Are you still getting bullied at school?" 

" _I_ took care of that," Rick said proudly. "It's just called being a teenager, Summer. He's fine."

Morty sat, picking at a loose thread on his sheets.

"You're fine...right?" Was there something Morty hadn't told him? He wracked his brain, but he couldn't think of anything specific lately that might have Morty down. They were together all the time except during Morty's study hall, because he usually spent them sleeping in the library. In a bid to not die of boredom Rick would go down the hall to heckle Mr. Butts, the AP Physics teacher. Maybe the bullies were back after all.

"Have you ever wanted something you shouldn't?" Morty asked suddenly. 

"Like what? Like...for mom and dad to get a divorce?" Summer took a shot in the dark.

"Good thinking. Bet that's it." Rick was impressed.

"No. I mean yeah, maybe. But no." _Pick, pick, pick_ , Morty plucked at that loose thread, unraveling his sheet. "I'm in love with someone," he said very, very quietly.

"Ok…" Summer sat on the foot of Morty's bed slowly, moving as if she were trying not to spook a wild animal. "Someone from school?"

Morty shook his head. "We met...somewhere else. Online. Anyway I want to meet up but I'm scared. He's older than me and stuff. What if I'm a disappointment? What if he doesn't like me the same as I like him?"

Meet? What could Morty possibly mean?

"Ok, tabling the 'older than me' thing for now, why wouldn't he like you? You're great, Morty. Anyone should be so lucky," said Summer

Morty shrugged one shoulder, eyes downcast. "I bet he was really popular before I met him. I don't even know if he's into guys."

"I'm not gonna, like, lecture you about meeting an older dude 'cause I don't wanna be a hypocrite, but are you sure this guy is good for you? You seem kinda miserable about the whole thing." 

"I can't take it anymore, though." Morty clutched at his chest as if he could reach inside and still his racing heart. "I think about him all the time. Even if he rejects me I have to meet him just this once." 

Summer nodded stoically. "Then I think you should do it. But we should work out some safety shit. I don't want you to get kidnapped or something on my watch."

"Yeah, ok." Morty seemed lighter, and Rick was grudgingly grateful for the assist. "Summer?"

"Yeah?"

"I basically just came out to you."

She snorted. "It's not like I'm surprised."

"Summer?"

"Yeah?"

"Screw you."

***

Morty traipsed through the springtime woods, crashing inelegantly through the brush. He was wearing his backpack for some reason Rick couldn't work out, and carrying an old quilt in his arms. Ever since that conversation with Summer earlier in the week Morty had ignored all of Rick's requests for conversation, and he'd been keeping to himself. And jealously guarding that backpack; the boy had taken to sleeping with it in his arms. He was hiding something from Rick, and Rick _hated_ it. He'd already thrown several tantrums, getting worked up enough to throw Morty's belongings around the room, but Morty had just ignored him.

"So, what, are we going on a little tea party?" Rick grumbled, following close behind Morty. Maybe if he got sulky enough he could snatch that damn backpack away. "Gay little tea party with my gay little grandson."

They emerged in a familiar clearing; they had come here a few weeks ago when Morty was picking flowers to apologize to Beth for breaking her favorite mug.

"It's still here," Morty breathed. 

Rick looked around, puzzled. _What_ was still here? Inside the clearing there was only grass and some unremarkable white mushrooms. Morty was humming to himself as he shook out the quilt and laid it down in the center of the clearing. Rick paced the treeline, peering into the woods and looking for an answer to this riddle. Morty called his name and he turned around like a trained dog. Out of the backpack came their softball--the one Morty had 'enchanted' with the same runes he'd painted on the planchette. He tossed it up in the air a few times, looking around the clearing while he did so. The little idiot still acted like he didn't already know the rules. He wasn't going to see or hear anything, yet he still looked.

It made Rick's heart soft. 

Rick hurried over and caught the ball in midair. "Yeah, I'm here, kid." 

Morty dug in his bag and came out with a big container of table salt. He went to the edge of the clearing and began to pour the stuff onto the ground. Rick lazily tossed the softball up and caught it over and over as he scrutinized Morty, trying to figure out what in the actual fuck he was doing. Dumping salt on the ground, making his way around the clearing.

"Have you sprung a leak? Seriously-- are we gonna be moving to a loony bin, Morty?"

Well, he might as well use this to his advantage. Still tossing the ball, he meandered over to Morty's open backpack and peered inside. _Civic History, Algebra I_ , blah blah blah. The textbooks were all familiar to him; this year, as he always did, Rick was practically doing Morty's courseload for him via the ouija board out of sheer boredom. His eyes, in fact, almost skipped over the odd-man-out as they began to glaze over. _Inside the Fairy Ring: A Sorcerer's Guide to Summoning and Binding Spirits_. 

Fairy rings--Rick looked up and, indeed, the toadstools he had dismissed before did circle the clearing in a perfect fairy ring. Everything was falling into place now.

"No. No way. You're not doing this." Rick would just go in the woods, have a good rant and ignore Morty. He would just blame it later on the magic not working and Morty couldn't even be mad. "You think you're gonna make me face up to your little crush? You've got another thing coming." 

He started to leave the clearing, but he felt a massive _push_ as he tried to step over the salt line and he went staggering backwards. The softball went flying when Rick put a foot wrong and he crashed to his ass on the ground. 

"It works," Morty said brightly. He settled on his knees on the blanket and took the book out. 

Rick pushed himself to his feet and loomed over Morty. "You little shit," he snarled. In a rage, he tore the book from Morty's fingers and hurled it out of the clearing. "Ha! Go fetch! I can do this all day!" 

"Aw, man! Rick, c'mon. I'm gonna have library fines now."

"That's what you get."

"Good thing I memorized the ceremony," Morty said. Rick was stunned by Morty's shit-eating grin. "You can't stop this from happening, Rick. If you're mad at me, then fine--you're about to get to come tell me yourself!"

Things began appearing from the backpack. A tupperware bowl. A baggie of herbs from the kitchen. A packet of birthday candles and a lighter. Various pieces of Summer and Beth's jewelry. Rick began to feel a bit easier. If witchcraft were this easy, _everyone_ would be summoning the dead.

"Is that a bird skull? Gross, Morty. Did you even wash that shit?"

Five minutes later, Rick was no longer so sure of himself. Morty had said a bunch of hilarious poems, tromping around the circle with a compass and leaving wonderbread and his mom's wine at the cardinal points. When he finished that, he settled down in the center with his little kit and set to chanting.

And now Rick was _tingling_. 

No, he was _jittering_ , feeling stretched and blurred like the picture of a paused VHS tape. And there was this awful ringing in his ears that was overtaking his rational thought.

"C'mon, kid," he begged, "you're killing me. You're literally killing me, Morty." He stood over him, unsteady on his feet. 

Morty lifted a pocketknife to the heavens and said something indistinct in Latin. He brought the blade to his wrist, held over the tupperware that was now full of a gross mish mash of stuff. His fist pumped a few times as he worked up his nerve. Just when Rick thought he was going to chicken out, Morty drew the metal across his flesh. Rick laughed weakly when Morty was puzzled and disappointed by the line of miniature red droplets that was all the slice had earned him.

"This isn't a fucking movie, genius. Your blood kinda wants to stay inside your body." Thankfully, this would end here

Or so Rick thought. But Morty pulled a determined face and sawed at his flesh until large, wine-dark beads of blood pooled on his tender skin. He turned his wrist and let a few drops fall. 

_\--Rick lay on his back in the dirt, looking up at the yellow sky.--_

The first thing that he noticed was the scent of lilacs. That was the first thing--just lilacs, sweet and wild, filling his atrophied senses. Next was the warmth of the sun on his back, almost too hot for comfort. He opened his eyes and looked at his arms, ghastly green and transIucent but unmistakably highlighted by golden sunshine. He dropped to his knees and _oh_ , the faint tickle of young grass and the dark scent of fresh earth and the chill of a cloud passing over the sun and--

"Rick!" 

"Morty." He had expected his voice to be hoarse and thick from disuse, but it was strong and clear as day. "Wine, Morty. Give me the wine." 

Morty hurried to obey, scrambling to Rick's side. Rick ripped the stopper out of the bottle, filling his ears with a glassy resonance, and he tipped the neck to his lips and drank deep. The supermarket swill outcompeted the finest vintage Rick had ever tasted, lush and wet. As he guzzled, a stream slid down his chin and he shivered. When he felt Morty's tiny hand move up and down his back he lowered the bottle and _moaned_.

That seemed to startle both of them, and Morty recoiled from him shyly. Rick put the bottle back to his lips and drank more slowly, watching Morty's blushing face as he tried to think a few things through. He didn't get much farther than the realization that he appeared to be as naked as the day he was born, and--he moved his fingers over the glass-- _slick_. 

"Come over to the blanket," Morty stammered, making Rick realize just how long he’d been staring quietly like a fucking feral cat. Great.

He couldn’t think of a reason not to go, so he silently got up and walked over to the quilt. When he sat down he got distracted all over again by the soft cottony texture and the heavy domestic scent of laundry soap. He put the bottle aside and laid down on his stomach, snuggling his cheek into the fabric and inhaling deeply.

“So good,” he muttered, his fingers moving over the threads as Morty settled beside him. Rick’s eyes rolled up to take him in. He suddenly had to know, consequences be damned; he grabbed Morty by the arm and yanked him down onto the blanket. Morty yelped, toppling over easily, and Rick pressed his face into Morty’s chest. He smelled like cheap teenager cologne and tangy, sour sweat and mint. Rick couldn’t get enough, inhaling deeply. “Fuuuuuck…”

“Oh geez,” Morty said, very quietly.

Rick largely ignored him other than basking in his warm scent until he felt soft fingers in his hair. Oh, right. This was about Morty’s entirely inappropriate _crush_. The one he was supposed to soundly disapprove of. But goddamn was it ever hard to unwind his arms from around Morty’s waist and push him away. The loss of the body heat alone was almost enough to make Rick cave. He cleared his throat; then, just because it felt so nice to have a throat to clear, he did it again.

“So. Exactly how were you thinking this would go, hm, _Morty_?” He looked up at the boy, who was watching him from beneath shy lashes. 

Morty’s hands were in his lap, doing a terrible job of playing casual, trying to hide a hardon. “Oh god, Rick, your _voice_ ,” was all Morty managed to say as his eyes rolled back in his head. His hips shifted a little, canted back and forth once. His eyes traveled down Rick’s body, drinking it in greedy gulps. 

“Hey. My eyes are up here, buddy,” Rick said with a frown. He didn’t like this at all. Morty looked so soft. How many times had Rick wished he could just touch his cheek, just the barest brush? And here was Morty on a platter, and what was more it turned out that _touching_ was _so much better_ than he remembered it being. He had to be strong enough for both of them, and Rick had never been strong enough to resist temptation of any kind. 

“S-sorry,” Morty said, his shoulders hunching to try and hide his blushing cheeks.

“‘S ok. I know I’m sexy.” A moment of awkward silence between them told him that it had been the wrong joke to make. “We’re not doing this, Morty.”

“Why not?” Morty’s face was nearly his undoing, so potently showing his desperation. He leaned forward, bracing himself in front of Rick on the blanket, but hissed in pain and drew back sharply.

“Let me see that,” Rick said, glad for the distraction.

He grabbed Morty’s hand, rolling onto his back as he pulled the boy a little closer so that he could look at his wrist. The tiny wound he had made still sluggishly oozed blood, his skin sticky with red. Before he could stop himself, Rick stuck out his tongue and licked across the cut, filling his mouth with the salty, metallic taste of blood. It was fucking heavenly, thick on his tongue and hot. He wondered, distantly, what flavors he would discover on Morty if he went searching.

“Rick,” Morty breathed.

“Am I even really your grandfather?” Rick murmured to himself. His fingertips ran over the back of Morty’s hand. “I mean, who’s to say that there’s anything meaningful about the familial bond that survives af--after death?”

“R-r-right,” Morty was quick to agree. He was doing a poor job of hiding his mounting hope. Rick shot him a look and he quieted, afraid of ruining this for himself.

“And as for age...do I even have an age anymore? I mean, I was born sixty-two years ago, but then again I was born _fifteen_ years ago in some ways.”

Morty cocked his head. “Fifteen?”

Rick nodded. The fingers of his left hand tangled with the fingers of Morty’s right. “I died fifteen years ago, as far as I can tell. On the day you were born.”

Emboldened, Morty laid down on his side, nose to nose with him. “What happened to y-you?”

“How come you’ve never asked me that before?”

“It’s k-k-kind of hard to follow when you’re telling a whole s-s-story with the ouija board,” Morty confessed sheepishly.

“And here I thought you loved my stories.”

“I-I-I-I do!” Morty corrected hurriedly. His eyebrows shot up, and he started to sit up but stopped when Rick squeezed his hand.

“ _Relax_ , Morty. I’m not so petty that I’m gonna dump you because you don’t listen to my stories.”

“Yes you are,” Morty said. 

“Yes, I am,” Rick said with a grin. “But I’m still not gonna dump you. Well, see, I was on of the minor moons of Thelkab VI stealing drugs from a Thelkabian cartel. I was almost back to my ship with them when a sniper got me.” He shrugged his shoulders. “You know. Normal grandpa stuff.”

“That’s it? That’s the big story of how you died?”

“I haven’t had any practice telling it. Ease up on a guy, kid. All this… _everything_ has me a little overwhelmed. You know I haven’t tasted anything in fifteen years?”

“Rick?”

“Hm?”

“I know something y-y-y-you can taste.”

“Wow, Morty. Wow. That line was totally pathetic. Just outrageously--”

Morty surged forward, cutting Rick off by crashing their mouths together inexpertly. 

It was the best kiss Rick had ever felt.

He moaned against Morty’s mouth, and all pretense at self-denial was gone. He did what he had longed to do, touched Morty’s soft cheek. His fingertips slid under the boy’s jaw and drew him in closer as his tongue pushed past his lips. Morty’s mouth tasted like the watermelon chewing gum he was always chomping on, and Rick couldn’t have thought of anything more perfect. Morty suddenly wrapped his arms strongly around Rick’s neck, and Rick wrapped his around Morty’s waist, and they drew each other close. Rick’s hand slipped under Morty’s shirt and ran up the subtle curve of his spine. Morty rolled his hips and keened into Rick’s mouth, and in that moment Rick lost himself completely.

“Want you,” he panted against Morty’s lips. “Wanted you...for so long.”

Morty’s whole body was fluttering. It wasn’t until Rick tasted salt that he realized they were both crying.

“Want you,” Morty echoed as Rick licked the tears from his cheeks. “I w-w-w-want you so bad, Rick.”

Rick kissed Morty’s throat as he gently rubbed his hand across his chest. He shushed him gently, touching him soothingly until he quieted.

“I can feel your heartbeat,” he murmured, his lips lingering over Morty’s pulse.

“Oh god,” Morty moaned. He nuzzled into Rick’s hair. “Please, please, I need to f-feel you. Please.”

“You and me both, baby,” Rick smiled. He heaved a breathy laugh when Morty moaned. “Yeah? You like it when I call you baby?”

“F-fuck, Rick, _your voice_.” He wriggled in Rick’s grasp impatiently.

Rick was determined to take his time, however, and he sank his teeth into Morty’s neck. Morty whimpered and arched into him. His little fingers tangled in Rick’s hair, holding him close. Rick sucked at the boy’s skin, working a blooming bruise into him. Let him try to explain _that_ to his parents; it would be amusing to watch later. His fingertip drew a lazy circle around Morty’s nipple. He chuckled darkly as Morty’s body stiffened underneath him.

“Rick,” he whined urgently.

“You ready to come in your pants for me, baby?” Rick carelessly pushed Morty’s shirt up and off of him. He bit at the boy’s collarbone and then worked his way lower, licking a hot stripe over his nipple. “I’ve been watching you touch yourself for a long time, Morty. I know exactly what you like.” 

To emphasize, he gave the little nub a flick with his tongue as his hand squeezed Morty’s erection over his pants. Morty sobbed as he bucked into Rick’s hand.

“Please,” he begged.

“Please what, Morty? How am I supposed to know what you want if you won’t use your words?”

“Please don’t make me c-come yet,” Morty rushed out, surprising Rick.

“Why not? I like the noises you’re making for me, baby. I want to hear the whole orchestra.”

“I want more. I w-want you ins-inside me.”

Rick pushed himself up on one arm and looked down at Morty, debauched and panting beneath him. His thumb toyed at the head of Morty’s dick through his jeans while he considered. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” he hedged, trying to talk himself out of it.

“Why not?” 

Morty’s hand trailed down his side and across his belly. Rick didn’t stop him from reaching lower and wrapping his hand around his growing cock. He hadn’t prepared himself for how good that was going to feel. He rolled onto his back, groaning and covering his eyes with his forearm. His heels dug into the ground, his hips rising to meet Morty’s hand as it pumped him slowly.

“Let me make you f-feel good, Rick,” the boy murmured, pressing him. “I want to. I want you to--want you to f-fuck me.”

Rick had known it was coming, and he _still_ moaned just from hearing Morty say that. Rick uncovered his eyes and looked up into Morty’s, reveling in his lust-filled gaze. His fingers made quick work of the button of his jeans and he yanked the boy’s pants down. He touched Morty below his navel as he hurriedly kicked his shoes and the rest of his clothes off. The sight of the boy’s dripping erection was making Rick harder than he’d ever felt before--almost painful, though there was something sweet in even that pain. Morty tried to cover himself, but Rick knocked his hand away impatiently.

“I’ve seen you like this a million times,” said Rick, his voice an awed hush. He ran his hand down Morty’s flank. “But I never thought it would be in my arms.”

“Oh geez, Rick,” Morty said, his face crimson. “Stop making me sh-shy.”

“No,” Rick said.

His own ghostly hand looked strange to him as he curled his fingers around Morty’s cock, but he didn’t want to look away. His left hand cradled the back of Morty’s neck, his thumb glided over Morty’s cheek as he stroked and gently shushed the boy. He let his gaze roam where he liked, from his wide, petrified eyes to the muscles shifting in his belly to his twitching erection to his curling toes. Rick had never wanted anything as badly as he wanted Morty in that moment. 

“Come for me, baby,” he said gently.

And Morty did.

He squirmed beautifully in Rick’s hands as he emptied himself. When he finally slumped, lips slack and breathing hard, Rick greedily bent over him and lapped his emissions off of his belly. 

“No,” Morty whimpered, holding Rick close by a loose grip on his hair.

“Relax, baby. I’m still gonna fuck you,” Rick murmured against his skin.

“O-oh.”

“You’ll get hard again. You’re young.” Rick rolled onto his back, drawing Morty with him. “I can think of something for you to do with that pretty mouth in the meantime.” Morty’s eyes lit up, and Rick growled low at the sight. “You that excited to suck my cock, Morty?”

“Yeah, Rick. I r-r-really am.”

They shifted so that Morty was kneeling between Rick’s legs, looking at his cock like it was the most delicious thing he had ever seen. Rick pushed Morty’s curls off of his forehead fondly.

“No need to rush yourself, kid. Wrap one hand around the base and use that to control how deep it goes. I’m not gonna fuck your throat your first time.”

Morty nodded. He wrapped his hand around the base just like Rick had told him--and oh, wasn’t that a nice ego trip? Morty’s tiny hand made his dick look huge--and with a determined look he gave the head a little kitten lick. Rick moaned loudly in encouragement. Fuck, it was barely an exaggeration, too. Just the heat of Morty’s breath on his skin was so good that it had Rick melting. Encouraged, Morty sucked the head into his mouth and flicked his tongue over the slit. Rick hadn’t been expecting that, and he couldn’t stop himself from thrusting forward. Morty was startled, but he just dug his fingers into Rick’s hip and held his ground.

“Oh fuck, baby, what a trooper. So good for me.” 

He gave a few experimental rolls of his hips. Morty quickly figured out what he had meant by controlling the depth with his hand, and he was soon moving with the thrusts. Rick tangled his fingers in Morty’s hair and encouraged the bobbing of his head, holding him firmly but not as roughly as he would have done with anyone else. Together they worked towards Rick’s pleasure.

He had to put a stop to it so much sooner than he wanted to, but if _he_ came then this really would all be over. He was afraid of just what he would find on the other side of his post-orgasm haze. A reason to regret this, probably. So he pushed a reluctant Morty off of his dick and onto his back. The air felt so cold on his shaft where Morty’s spit was rapidly drying.

“Are you going to…” Morty’s face was splotchy, his eyes black with desire.

“Yes, Morty. I’m going to fuck you. Open your legs. Wider. Good--good boy.” He stroked Morty’s inner thigh, relishing the feeling of his impossibly soft skin. “Bend your knees for me, baby.” His fingers trailed lower until one fingertip was circling Morty’s entrance. “I’ve watched you touching yourself here at night,” he said, his voice low. He kept circling, making a show of being in no hurry. “You look so good when you’re doing it. Are--do you think about me while you do it? Hm, Morty? You pretend it’s my cock sinking into your sweet ass instead of your fingers? _There_ we go,” he said, feeling the moment that Morty relaxed enough and slipping one slick finger inside of him.

“Hnng, Rick,” Morty mewled, his eyes suddenly flying wide open. “Oh god, that f-f-feels so good…”

“Jesus, you’re so tight, Morty. It feels like you’re pulling me in, _fuck_.”

“Is...is that good?”

“Yeah, Morty. It’s real--real good.” He worked his finger, pleased that Morty’s dick was starting to fill again. “You’re so gorgeous, baby. I love that little body of yours. Can’t wait to watch you writhing on my cock.” 

Morty was still so tense, though. Rick took his rapidly inflating erection in hand and gave it a few slow strokes. He gathered it up with his own and let them both fuck into the circle of his fingers as he worked him. At the perfect moment, Rick managed to slide a second finger inside of him, wringing a throaty moan out of him. Now he began to finger him in earnest, thrusting into him deeply with every stroke.

“Morty, Morty. Look at me, baby,” Rick demanded mischievously. When Morty’s eyes finally settled on his, he pressed hard against the boy’s prostate. Morty laid his head back and cried out, his heels pushing against the ground, his back arching. “Guess you hadn’t found that yet, huh? You’re dripping, Morty. I think I want to taste.”

“Rick, no, please,” Morty begged, tossing his head back and forth. “I can’t take any more, Rick, _please_ , just fuck me.”

“Soon. Soon, ok? You gotta let me do this, baby, I need to taste you.”

He kept fingering Morty deeply as he bent down, nuzzling into the boy’s pubic hair and breathing in his light, musky scent. Gleefully he lapped at the precome rolling down Morty’s shaft, savoring the bittersweet taste. Morty keened when he sucked it into his mouth, getting carried away by the feel of him hot and heavy on his tongue.

“Rick! Rick!” Morty cried urgently, tugging at his hair even as he thrust up into his mouth.

“I know, baby. I’m doing it now, ok?” Rick soothed, pulling off of Morty reluctantly. He replaced his hand with the tip of his slippery cock. “Deep breath,” he instructed.

Then he was pushing inside, inch by delicious, agonizing inch. They were both breathing hard by the time Rick bottomed out, and they lay there in each other’s arms for a long moment.

“Move,” Morty begged quietly.

Rick’s muscles rippled as he began to move inside of Morty, fucking into the velvet heat of his body. Morty laid his head back and moaned, but Rick chased his lips and kissed him warmly. They breathed into one another’s mouths. Morty whimpered and whined in time with Rick’s long, slow strokes. Clumsy, desperate, the boy rolled his hips, rutting into the space between their sweat-slick bodies.

“It’s not a race, baby.” He knelt up taller, dragging Morty with him and holding him still with an iron grasp on his hips. 

“It’s too good, R-Rick,” Morty mewled. He put his arms around Rick’s neck and curled upwards to kiss him--sloppy, all tongue and enthusiasm. “I can’t take it.”

In truth, Rick wanted to make this good for Morty, and he didn’t trust himself to last once he really got going. This slow pace was beautifully agonizing for both of them. Morty’s eyes were glassy, his mouth open in a little _oh_ that widened in a moan every time Rick pushed into the deepest place inside of him. When he started to cry Rick thought he might lose himself completely.

“You’re so beautiful, Morty. Cry for me, baby--it only makes me harder.”

Now he couldn’t help himself anymore. He shrugged Morty’s legs onto his shoulders and started to thrust down into him quickly. Morty’s cries were stuttered out as his body was jolted. Rick struggled to keep his eyes open, to watch Morty’s body as he writhed below him. Hungry eyes on the boy’s face, Rick angled his hips until he saw and heard Morty’s breath hitch. Satisfied that he’d found the boy’s prostate, he launched a jackhammer attack on it. The boy’s hands scrabbled at the outsides of his own thighs because he couldn’t reach Rick’s back. He was sobbing now, full bodied and unrestrained.

“I can’t, I can’t,” Morty wailed. “Rick, I _c-can’t_.”

“You can baby. You can.” Rick moved his grip, holding Morty around his waist. Morty was so small that Rick’s thumbs could nearly meet in the center of his belly. He let his head fall back and groaned appreciatively. “God, you feel so fucking good. Gonna come in that sweet little ass.”

“Yes! Yes, Rick, please, I want you to come, please, please I wanna know what it feels like, _please_ Rick,” Morty babbled. “It feels too good I can’t take it anymore, please Rick, please tell me to come again...need to hear you say it…”

As Morty struggled his body tightened rhythmically around Rick’s cock. It practically felt like he was milking him. Rick’s rhythm faltered, stuttered. He pushed deeper, harder, completely unthinking. His hands tightened on Morty’s warm, soft skin. For the space of a few breaths he worked in silence, chasing his own pleasure selfishly.

“Now. Now Morty, _fuck_ , gotta come for me, baby.”

Rick shuddered when he heard Morty call out his name, and they climaxed together. Rick’s thighs flexed, his balls tightened. Morty twisted in his grasp, howling out his pleasure while his hole pulsed around Rick’s throbbing cock. Rick’s vision washed white; he was reduced to a moaning mass of flesh wrapped around the hot liquid pleasure of his orgasm. His hips kept moving, his body making demands that he followed helplessly. He shuddered and groaned his way through a pinnacle that he thought would never end, milking every last drop out of himself into Morty’s tight hole.

When it was over, he slumped helplessly onto Morty’s chest, sticky with the boy’s emissions. He mouthed at Morty’s neck, running his hands wearily up and down his sides, trying to soothe his crying. Morty’s arms wrapped tightly around his shoulders and he wept into Rick’s hair.

“Shh, mi amor. Feel me--feel me breathing? Breathe with me, Morty. C’mon, you can do it.”

Morty struggled, but Rick just held him tight and breathed slowly until Morty matched his tempo. The boy’s shaking arms fell onto the blanket, and Rick pushed himself up. He licked the tears off of Morty’s cheeks and kissed his sweet lips. 

“Love you, Rick,” Morty said weakly when Rick pulled back. His face was slack, eyes vacant. “I love you. I love you.”

“I love you, Morty.” Rick didn’t expect the tears that streamed down his face. He wanted Morty to hear this and remember it, to remember the sound of his voice. “I love you. I’ll love you for the rest of your life.”

“Rick…” Morty’s expression was crumbling, but he had no tears left to shed.

“Hush, now. No need to cry.”

“ _You’re_ crying,” Morty pointed out. 

“I’m allowed to. I have to go back to being dead after this.” Rick stroked Morty’s cheek lovingly. “I won’t be able to cry anymore.”

“That’s just gonna make me cry m-m-more, Rick.” But Morty scrubbed at his eyes, trying to get himself together anyway.

Rick lowered himself to the blanket beside Morty. They both naturally shifted to face each other, curling in towards one another. “You’re gonna grow up and meet someone nice and get married and make babies, Morty. And I’ll be there the whole time, and you’ll forget me, and you’ll be free and happy and I’ll be wishing I could touch you just one more time.”

He hadn’t meant to prey on Morty’s sympathy. He had just started talking until his shoulders were shaking. He let out an unmanly sob and tried weakly to push Morty’s hands away when he touched his hair, turning his face down toward the blanket to hide his shame.

“Rick and Morty, a hundred y-y-y-years, remember?” Morty’s tone was hushed but strong and calm. “I’m gonna find a way for us to b-be together.”

“Don’t. Don’t let me ruin your life, Morty.” Rick wrapped his arms around himself and drew his knees up. He felt so naked. 

“You can't tell me what to d-do.”

“I’ve got fifty years on you and I’m your grandfather. If anyone can tell you what to do it’s me.” 

“Whatever you say, _grandpa Rick_.” Rick looked up warily, surprised to hear Morty teasing him. “I can call you here whenever I want. I’m kinda i-i-i-in charge of this situation, Rick.”

“Fuck you, Morty,” Rick sniffled. He put his arms around Morty and pulled him closer. He pressed their lips together, desperately seeking the solace that Morty was trying to offer him.

“I love you, too, Rick.”

***

The fairy ring lasted for the rest of that spring and part of the summer. Rick and Morty met there every day and made love in the sunlight. Then one day Morty went out only to find that half of the mushrooms had burst the night before and were gone. They both tensely walked through the ritual, but it didn’t work. Rick remained pale and ghostly and intangible.

He fell into a depression for days after that, refusing to speak to Morty. Morty didn’t give up trying, though, and eventually Rick came around and cursed him out through the ouija board for being such an annoyingly optimistic piece of shit. They made up and Morty put on a show for Rick that night.

They tried to move on.

Neither of them could ever be the same again, though. Not really. Rick spent more and more of his time in despair. He was sullen in conversation, sluggish, listless. Morty tried to smile, but Rick could tell that he was unhappy, too. He didn’t want to see his lover so sad, and remained distant. He haunted other places in the house, other places in the school. He left Morty on his own half the time while he drifted, stewing in his own bitterness. They drifted in parallel to one another.

The next summer the fairy ring didn’t reappear, nor the next. Morty became obsessed with summoning magic. He read everything he could get his hands on, off and online. He became familiar with the leading theories behind the rituals. He spoke to pagans and witches and even satanists, hoping that anyone would give him the answer that he craved, but no one did. The dead were dead, and that was that. Summoning magic like what they had used to be together was situational at best, dependent on natural cycles and rare phenomena like the fairy ring. There was nothing that they could do--they weren’t going to be together.

He became increasingly erratic. On one memorable occasion he dropped acid and spent the evening trying to get Rick to play catch with him in the kitchen while he told the whole family about the ghost grandpa he’d fallen in love with. That one had gotten the ouija board taken away until Morty proved completely inconsolable for over a week afterwards. After that he started having to go to therapy twice a month. His faith never wavered. Everyone soon knew what answer they’d get if they tried to talk Morty out of his ‘delusion.’ Even Rick.

***

A sudden feeling of bitter cold was Rick’s first sign that something was wrong that night. It pervaded his very being, wrapping him in tendrils of sudden sensation that cut through his twilight unlife like an angel’s sword. Was Morty doing magic upstairs? Maybe he had found an answer! Rick bounded the steps and burst into Morty’s bedroom excitedly.

Horror dawned on him in waves.

Morty sat slumped on his bed, held up by the wall with his head lolling. The sheets were slick and dark with blood. There was _so much of it_. It bubbled from the deep gashes in Morty’s forearms with every beat of his weakening heart. 

“Rick,” Morty murmured. His eyes were empty, but they were turned toward Rick, following his movement across the room. Morty smiled deliriously. “I think it’s working.”

“ _No_ ,” Rick moaned. “Baby, no. No, this isn’t the way.”

“I missed your voice, Rick.”

Rick hurried to Morty’s side and clamped his hands down on the boy’s wounds. Just as he’d feared, flesh connected with flesh solidly. It was just like the day in the pond. Rick had saved Morty that day, and he was determined to save him again. But blood squelched through his fingers, hot and sticky. Fuck, this was bad. This was really, really bad. 

“BETH!” Rick howled. “Baby, you gotta hold your arms for me. You gotta...you gotta put pressure and… BETH!!!”

“I don’t think they can hear you, Rick.” Morty swallowed thickly and tilted his head back, looking up at Rick, who was looming over him. “Why do you look so scared? We’re gonna...be together…”

“You don’t know that,” Rick said. “You don’t know how it works, Morty. No one does. You little...you little fucking idiot, _put pressure right here_ so I can go get your mom.”

“It’s too late, Rick. It’s too late. Hold me, won’t you just hold me?”

“No. No, Morty! I’m not giving up on you--no fucking way. Stay there. Stay still and just...just breathe slow. Don’t fall asleep.”

“Rick,” Morty called after him.

But Rick was already away. He tore down the hall and thrust Beth and Jerry’s door open so hard that it bounced off the wall with a crash. The couple sat up, blinking, when Rick tore their blankets off. He grabbed Beth around the ankle and pulled her as hard as he could, sending her sprawling onto the floor.

“Too slow, too slow, TOO SLOW,” he admonished her as she looked around warily.

Rick grasped the daughter by her hair and yanked her to her feet. He dragged her, struggling, back down the hall and into her son’s room.

“Rick,” Morty said again. “‘M tired.”

“Don’t go to sleep. Don’t go to sleep, do you hear me?!?” Rick hurried to Morty’s side again, wrapping the boy in his arms. He was so relieved. Beth would save him.

Thirty minutes later Rick, Morty, and a horrified, blood-soaked Beth were in the hospital. Morty had bled through a first set of bandages that the paramedics put on him, and was working on a second. He had passed out ten minutes ago. Rick and his daughter both knew too much medical science; they could read the writing on the wall. Morty’s blood pressure hadn’t improved enough by the time they got to the hospital. The medics could barely find his pulse, it was so light and thready. The prognosis wasn’t good. Rick hurried off with the doctors when they arrived, leaving his daughter standing in the hallway all alone.

Surgery had barely started when Morty flatlined the first time. They brought him back twice. The third time, the doctors’ best efforts were for naught. Rick stood, forlorn, as the surgeon called time of death. 

Rick had felt cold, so cold, the entire time. Arctic cold, _painfully_ cold. Now he was warming up pleasantly. He thought he was just transitioning back to his usual state of numbness when he heard a small voice behind him.

“Rick?”

“Morty?” Rick whirled, hoping against hope.

They rushed into each other’s arms. Rick peppered kisses all over Morty’s face and neck until they were both breathless and Morty was giggling. He held him so close, so close. He was trembling and--

He was trembling. Breathing. Warm. He looked around himself for the first time since hearing Morty’s voice.

They were standing in their clearing on a beautiful day. April, Rick thought. It looked like April. Insects hummed and the air shifted and everything felt so _alive_. Fearful, Rick looked down at Morty again. He seemed solid. Rick seemed solid, too. His skin was the color it had been in life, though it had the firm tone of youth rather than showing the beginnings of weatherbeaten wrinkles like the day he died.

“Your eyes are so b-blue,” Morty breathed.

“What...what’s going on?” Rick scanned their surroundings warily.

“I think w-w-w-we’re in heaven.”

“Heaven doesn’t exist, Morty.”

“N-n-neither do ghosts,” Morty pointed out.

“If heaven existed, they wouldn’t let me in. I’ve done things, Morty. I’ve done terrible things, and I--”

“Shh, Rick, just sh-shut up and enjoy it, ok? Maybe I don’t know where we a-are but we’re together.”

“About that stunt you fucking pulled,” Rick said, suddenly reminded. “I can’t believe how idiotic and irresponsible you were!”

“But we’re t-together,” Morty repeated. “Don’t you--don’t you want to be with me?”

Rick slumped, defeated for the moment. “Yes. Of course I want to be with you.” 

He gathered Morty into his arms, holding him possessively. Maybe Morty was right. Maybe he shouldn’t worry. The past couldn’t be changed, and they were together. He tilted the boy’s chin up and kissed him. If Morty couldn’t live out his life, Rick would make sure that he was happy now in their mutual death.

Rick held his lover’s hand beneath a blue sky. He would never be alone again.


End file.
